


We'll Make This Work

by OrangeChickenPillow



Series: The Witcher - Shorts [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Jaskier | Dandelion, Making Up, Multi, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, could be read as romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeChickenPillow/pseuds/OrangeChickenPillow
Summary: It's no secret that Jaskier and Yennefer do not get along. Yennefer doesn't know how she feels about the bard, and Jaskier is sure that the mage hates his guts. However, when Geralt invites the sorceress along on their travels, both Jaskier and Yennefer begin to think that maybe the other isn't so bad after all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Witcher - Shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064513
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: occasional swearing
> 
> There is angst, but I promise it'll all tie up in a fluffy bow by the end of the series ;)
> 
> Also, as I mentioned in the tags, any interactions between Yen, Jaskier, and Geralt can be read as platonic or romantic -- I don't mind either, so whichever you fancy. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

If Jaskier had known what the decision to spend the night in a tavern would bring about, he would have insisted they stay a hundred miles from any village in the whole Continent. 

But Jaskier hadn’t known. 

He’d only wanted to get out of the cold. 

Jaskier had been suffering through the most horrendous winter conditions of his life for the past week, and he still had no idea where the hell Geralt was taking him. 

The weather was less than pleasant; with endless snow and sleet, wind and hail, Jaskier was just ready to spend a night inside a warm tavern with a nice cup of ale and enough feeling in his fingers to play the lute. 

After a momentary scare, Geralt had given the painfully underdressed bard one of his old jackets -- a worn, woolen piece that was huge on the smaller man. 

But the sleeves, which trailed past Jaskier’s hands by several inches, helped keep his fingers warm, and the broad shoulders gave him extra insulation. 

Though, even with the extra piece of clothing, which Jaskier was greatly thankful for, the bard was still horribly cold. 

“I’m not like you, Geralt,” the bard had complained one particularly blustery day.

“You may be warm up there on Roach, but I’m about frozen stiff and sick with fatigue.”

Whenever these complaints sprung up, Geralt would simply grunt and pretend to ignore the bard. 

But ever since Jaskier almost froze to death, Geralt had begun taking great pains to pay attention to his friend’s needs. 

And Geralt knew that Jaskier needed to rest. 

They had been traveling through harsh conditions for weeks, and despite his complaints, Jaskier had done surprisingly well, for a human. 

So when the Witcher began to smell the scents of human life, he took a mental note to look out for a village. 

Sure enough, not a day later they discovered a main road, the frequent travel having cut a path in the snow and slush. 

When Jaskier saw the road, and then the smoke of a village off in the distance, his face lit up like a beacon. 

Looking eagerly at Geralt, he said, “Oh ho ho! Please, tell me we’re stopping there. I’m in dire need of a hot meal and a bath.”

Geralt looked down at the bard, who was grinning from ear to ear at the thought of spending the night under a roof, and smirked. 

“Mmm,” was the Witcher’s only reply. 

Jaskier, taking that as a yes, flug his arms wide before clasping his hands together.

“Oh, yes! Fantastic. I’m so beyond myself with excitement, I just might pass out.”

Geralt grunted, but the smirk never left his face. 

It was worth it, to see the bard so happy. While they still had a lot of travelling to do, perhaps they could spend a few extra nights here and there in a village. 

If anything, at least it might inspire Jaskier to cut back on his complaining. 

Geralt gave a grunt at the idea. 

“What are you going on about up there,” Jaskier asked as they carefully picked their way along the slush covered road. 

Geralt, caught off guard, looked down at his companion.

“Oh - just thinking,” he said, trying to avoid any further questioning. 

Thankfully, Jaskier’s mind seemed to be on things other than the Witcher’s thoughts. 

“Me too,” he said. “Y’know what I’m thinking about? A nice warm bed. And ale - lots of ale. And a nice fire.” He nodded, breathing deeply in eager anticipation.

Geralt just rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. 

The village was large and crowded, with much traffic snaking in and out of the main gate. Geralt and Jaskier slipped in without trouble, easily unnoticed among the sea of other travellers. 

It seemed that this particular village was a hot spot for wanderers and merchants alike.

Wagons full of supplies and products filled the streets, and booths were set up in the main square. Smoke from fires curled up into the clear blue sky, and people in worn winter clothes were huddled by them for warmth. 

Geralt easily located the tavern, being able to distinguish the strong smell of beer from everything else.

While Geralt tethered Roach to a nearby post, Jaskier earnestly strode up to the front door, swinging it wide open and taking a deep breath. 

Ensuring that Roach was secure, Geralt gave a quick glance around him as he found his way inside. 

He’d hardly made it through the door when Jaskier bumped into him. 

The bard, who looked like he’d seen a ghost, was trying to make his way out of the tavern. 

“Jaskier, what--”

The bard cut him off. 

“Geralt,” he said with a start, and the Witcher could tell he was about to get an earful. 

“You know what, I changed my mind,” Jaskier said hurriedly. “I don’t want to say in a tavern -- in fact, I rather prefer sleeping outside, under the stars and all, so if you’re ready, let’s just leave--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interjected, his voice rough. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The bard just gave him a sickly look, still trying to herd him out the door. 

But he was, of course, no match for the Witcher, who easily pushed passed him and into the tavern. 

Jaskier gave a defeated sigh. 

“I swear, if you’re tucking tail from some lover’s husband again, I’ll have you…”

Geralt trailed off as a smell reached his nostrils.

He knew that smell. 

He breathed deeply, eyes flitting about the crowded room.

Then he spotted her. She was sitting in the back, drink in her hand. Her black hair was worn loose, as it usually was, and she was dressed for the harsh winter conditions.  
“Fuck,” Jaskier muttered as he watched Geralt. 

Then, in a weary tone, he said, “I’m getting a drink,” before making his way towards the bar  
.  
Geralt hadn’t noticed. His eyes hadn't left the fair form of Yennefer, who was staring absentmindedly at the wall, looking rather bored.

As if in a trance, Geralt picked his way through the tavern to stand in front of her. 

“Yen,” he said softly. 

Yennefer looked up, surprise registering on her face before quickly being ushered away by the deliberately indifferent expression she often wore. 

“Geralt of Rivia,” she said slowly, in a tone of mocking wonder. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she added dryly, taking a sip of her drink. 

“What are you doing here,” Geralt asked. 

Sitting her cup down on the table in front of her, she crossed her legs and gave him a pointed look. 

With an almost silent sigh, she said, “I’m traveling… on business.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a shit job,” Yennefer clarified, “But that seems to have become my specialty.”

She gave a smile that was nowhere close to reaching her eyes. 

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed. 

Now it was Yennefer's turn to raise an eyebrow. 

“And what are you doing here,” she asked, sounding disinterested. 

At that moment, Jaskier approached the two with a drink in each hand, situating himself close to Geralt. 

Yennefer’s expression changed, as if she was going to roll her eyes, but stopped herself at the last second. 

“Jaskier,” she greeted the bard with a mockingly polite tone that did not do well to hide her dislike. 

“Yennefer,” he replied, not bothering to even try and hide his displeasure of seeing her.

She looked up at the two men, flashing them an obviously fake smile. 

“Won’t you sit down,” she said, her voice pained with the duty of polite formality. 

“Gee, thank you so much for that offer, but Geralt and I were actually just leaving and -- Geralt what--” Jaskier gave up, watching with desperation as the Witcher took a seat in the booth across from Yennefer. 

“Oh for the love of…” Jaskier muttered, plopping himself down next to Geralt. 

The bard not-so-elegantly dropped one of the cups in front of the Witcher, who grunted his thanks. 

Yennefer watched them as if she wished she was somewhere else. 

“Funny, how I’m always running into you, Witcher,” she said, her voice sweet and sly. 

“And where one is, the other seems to always follow,” she added, turning her cunning gaze on Jaskier. 

“Yes, well,” the bard said, obviously uncomfortable under the mage’s scrutiny. “Some people actually like the company of each other. But I’m sure that’s something you wouldn’t understand.” 

His tone was quiet, almost desperate; he wasn’t trying to be mean, he just wanted to get out of her presence as soon as possible. Jaskier always knew that Yennefer hated him, and while he certainly didn’t hate her, he did dislike being around her. When she was with them, Geralt always seemed to forget that Jaskier ever existed at all. 

It made him feel disposable. 

“Well,” Yennefer responded, her voice laced with subtle sarcasm, “I’m sure Geralt just loves your company, bard.”

Jaskier looked down at his hands, which were tightly clutching his drink, and said nothing, which earned him an airy, not at all amused laugh from Yennefer.

Geralt said nothing, just stared at the sorceress. 

“Where are you headed,” the Witcher asked.

Yennefer, her expression blank, waltzed around the question. 

“Oh,” she hummed breathily. “South, towards Sodden,” she vaguely answered. 

Jaskier gave an immediate inward groan that he barely managed to repress. 

He downed his ale in one long swig, smacking the empty cup back down on the table. 

Yennefer watched him with an amused -- and maybe impressed -- glint in her eye, then turned to look at Geralt. 

The Witcher shifted awkwardly. 

“Here it comes,” Jaskier muttered under his breath. 

“We’re heading in that direction. You should join us.”

The bard snaked a hand beneath Geralt’s arm, which was propped against the table, and grabbed the Witcher’s mug of ale, which had yet to be touched. Without so much as a glance at Geralt, he took a long gulp. 

Yennefer watched him, a smirk lighting up her already beautiful features. 

As she watched the bard, Geralt watched her, until she finally returned his gaze. 

“Hard pass,” she said shortly, taking a quick drink from her own cup. 

Geralt’s brow furrowed a little and Jaskier let out a relieved sigh, which caused Yennefer to shoot him a somewhat surprised glance. 

“Does that relieve you, bard?” she asked, her words firm but amused. 

Jaskier, his hands fidgeting under the table, threw her a pointed look. 

“Yes, yes it does. Very much so,” he said clearly. 

She snorted softly, and this time the laugh did reach her eyes, lighting them up brightly. 

“You should come,” Geralt said again. “Might be nice, traveling in company for a change.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, wishing Geralt would just accept Yennefer’s fortunate rejection and shut up. 

But, to his horror, when his gaze returned to the mage, he saw that she was seriously contemplating what the Witcher had said. 

Feeling compelled to interfere somehow, Jaskier quickly said, “The lady has made her decision Geralt.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder, earning a grumpy sideways glance from the Witcher. 

“Let’s get on, shall we?” Jaskier stood. 

“Yennefer, it was lovely to see you, but we really must be going, so--”

“I’ll come,” the sorceress interrupted, looking at Geralt. 

“Well that’s just… fucking wonderful,” Jaskier sighed, sitting back down, defeated. 

“But don’t expect me to stay long,” she said, her voice firm. “I won’t follow you around like a stray dog.”

“You already have one of those,” she added, slipping Jaskier a roguish look. 

Jaskier pursed his lips, looking away with a hardened expression that hid his hurt. 

The Witcher nodded, and it seemed all was decided.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier and Geralt always shared a room. It was just the way they did things. They saved money that way, which eased Geralt’s mind, and Jaskier, who hated to be alone, enjoyed the company of his friend, even if they didn’t speak. 

But this particular night, Jaskier wasn’t surprised when Geralt told him that the bard would be sleeping in his own room for a change. 

He wasn’t surprised, but he sure was hurt. 

Under any other circumstances, Jaskier would have made a joke out of the whole situation and brushed it off. But knowing why Geralt was pushing him away -- all so he could spend the night with that witch -- cut into Jaskier’s chest like a blade. 

But what could he say? 

Jaskier found that his voice was failing him, and all he could do was watch as Yennefer led Geralt away, the two completely bewitched by each other. 

The bard was left standing in the tavern completely alone, despite all the people that hovered near him, drinking or eating or talking. 

“Yeah… right,” He mumbled to himself, a long delayed response to what Geralt had said. 

He felt as if the energy had been drained out of him. 

For the first time in months, Jaskier would be sleeping alone.

‘All so Geralt and Yennefer can go at it,’ Jaskier thought with a grimace. 

But his thoughts were cut short by a voice coming from behind him. 

“What’s got you looking so sour,” A man asked from over his shoulder, his voice full of good humor. 

Jaskier glanced at him cautiously. 

“Oh -- nothing, just… a dramatic act of betrayal,” the bard said vaguely, waving his hand. 

The man snorted, then downed a cup of ale. 

“Sounded more like a lover’s quarrel to me. Though, if I were you, I’d settle on defeat. That woman sure is something -- you’ve got nothing on the likes of her.”

Jaskier looked at the man, his face twisted in discomfort.

“Yeah, right, thanks. Lovely chatting with you,” the bard said sarcastically as he gave the man a mocking wave and headed up to his room. 

His room. Not their room, only his. 

Jaskier’s body felt heavy. What was the point of following around a person who threw you away the first chance they got, trading you for someone else? 

Was Yennefer right? Was Jaskier really just a stray dog that Geralt simply tolerated?

As if in a haze, the crestfallen and contemplative bard got ready for bed in silence, without an ounce of the cheer that usually accompanied him. 

He fell into a restless sleep, trying very hard not to think about the things going on in Geralt and Yennefer’s room. 

The next morning brought nothing new for the trio. Yennefer and Geralt were still flitting around each other like birds in love, and Jaskier was still gripped by the gloom that had befallen him because of it. 

He tried not to let his altered mood show. The last thing he needed was more cruel jests from Yennefer. 

But when he saw how genuinely happy Geralt seemed with the mage, and how lovingly she looked at him when she thought no one was watching, he knew that neither of them would have noticed a difference if he’d slipped away in the night, never to be seen again. 

Why bother pretending when they didn’t care in the first place?

That was Jaskier’s mentality when they set out to resume their journey, this time as a party of three rather than two. 

Yennefer had been traveling on a tall, muscular steed of a cloudy grey color. The horse had been stalled alongside Roach, and all of the mage’s supplies had been stored in the stable. 

When Jaskier saw that Yennefer would be riding, he felt his foul mood lift slightly enough for him to raise a complaint. 

“Hold on now -- if she gets to ride, then I want a horse too,” Jaskier said firmly. 

Geralt just looked at him skeptically. 

“Do you even know how to ride?”

Jaskier faltered for a moment, stuttering. 

“Well, I-- I--- I know enough, Geralt.” His voice was oddly tense, but if the Witcher noticed, he didn’t comment on it. 

“You’ve been fine to walk before,” Geralt said instead. “Why’s now any different?”

“Because,” Jaskier started, “If all three of us are mounted, then we’ll be able to go faster.”

He had a point. 

Geralt, however, just grunted thoughtfully. 

Jaskier’s arms twitched in frustration, and he had just been preparing to raise more lamentations when Yennefer’s smooth, monotone voice interjected. 

“The bard’s right. He should get a horse, just like the rest of us.”

Both men spun around to look at Yennefer, who was saddling her horse, not even sparing a glance in their direction. 

When she noticed they had fallen silent, she looked at them inquisitively, raising an eyebrow as if daring them to keep on staring at her. 

Geralt grunted, defeated, then strode off. 

Jaskier continued to stare at the mage, who was making it a point not to look him in the eye. 

The bard was dumbfounded. Yennefer -- the same Yennefer who seemed to make it her life’s purpose to relentlessly insult him -- had just stood up for him. She had just sided with him -- and against Geralt, no less. 

“Better close your mouth, bard, or you’ll choke on a fly,” the mage said in an even tone. 

Jaskier snapped his jaw shut with a click, but continued to send puzzled glances her way. 

Geralt returned shortly, leading a snow white horse behind him, already saddled. 

The Witcher pushed the reigns into Jaskier’s hands, then went to mount Roach. 

Yennefer followed suit, gracefully swinging herself up onto her own mount. 

Jaskier began to panic; he didn’t mind horses, as long as he could admire them with his feet planted safely on the ground. 

He looked up at his horse as if he had no clue in the world what to do. 

“Trying to figure out which direction you’re meant to face?” Yennefer impatiently goaded. 

Jaskier shot her a withering look, then clumsily clambered onto the horse’s back.

When he was sitting in the saddle, he shot his two travelling companions an accomplished look, as if to say, ‘See, I can manage just fine.’

Geralt grunted, spurring Roach forward. Yennefer raised an eyebrow, keeping the rest of her face blank before following behind. 

Jaskier let his features fall as he brought up the rear. 

This was going to be a trip full of suffering, he just knew it. 

They travelled in silence, which was odd for Jaskier, who was used to keeping up a cheery attitude. 

He assumed that Geralt hadn’t even noticed, but in fact, the Witcher had. The bard’s lack of talking and singing was not lost to Geralt, however rather than worry, the Witcher just tried to relish the break from Jaskier’s constant chatter. 

Geralt didn’t necessarily dislike Jaskier’s talkative nature, however the Witcher was one who valued comfortable silence -- and silence was never comfortable for the bard. 

Such was the case now, Geralt noticed. Jaskier was only ever quiet when he was scared or truly upset. But rather than worry over something that he didn’t understand, Geralt occupied his mind with thoughts of their journey. 

Yennefer, too, had noticed the bard’s silence, being slightly taken aback by it. She had been expecting a trip riddled with incessant conversation, but instead, things were just as quiet as when she’d been travelling alone. 

With knowledge of Jaskier based on what Geralt had told her, the sorceress felt she could safely infer that this was not a common occurrence, and something was amiss. 

She rolled her strikingly violet eyes, hoping the two would get over whatever was plaguing them so she didn’t have to be amongst their moping for long. 

But then she felt something catch in her chest as she realized that the thing that plagued them might be her. 

She slowly spun around to shoot the bard a fleeting glance. Jaskier was staring at his horse’s mane, picking absentminded at the reins in his hands. 

Looking straight ahead again, Yennefer’s eyebrows knit up with a twinge of guilt. Had she been too harsh to the bard? He and Geralt had been travelling together for a long time, and he likely felt closer to Geralt than he assumed she did. 

Yennefer sighed; emotions could be such bitches. 

While she didn’t necessarily like Jaskier, she also didn’t really mind the eccentric bard. He was fine, she supposed. Rather annoying -- she still couldn’t figure out how Geralt managed to have him around -- but she could tell he had a kind heart. And yet, she had insulted him over and over again, making it a point to single him out -- and for what? 

Yennefer didn’t like feeling guilty, and while she definitely wasn’t an excessively kind person, she utterly despised bullies. Fearing that she might have become one, the mage decided that she would try to get along better with Jaskier. At the very least, she would stop insulting him every chance she got. 

They still had a long journey ahead of them, and Yennefer didn’t want to be the source of constant looming tension.

She would try to make this work.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time night fell and the trio stopped to make camp, a storm had rolled in. Big gusts of wind whistled around them, sweeping heavy drifts of snow in all directions. The temperatures had dropped and, learning from past mistakes, Geralt made it a point to check on Jaskier and see how the bard was doing. 

The younger man had come prepared this time, having bought a heavy cloak at a marketplaces they had visited. 

The worries faded from Geralt’s mind when he saw that Jaskier was bundled up warmly.

Yennefer used an incantation to get a fire going, and then, after sharing a warm meal with the two men, excused herself to prepare her tent. 

It was a small, modest thing, but Geralt knew that it would be luxurious and roomy on the inside, thanks to Yennefer’s magical abilities.

As the Witcher’s mind wandered, the bard sat next to him, thinking. 

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, with only the howling of the wind to be heard, Jaskier spoke up, his voice low and cold. 

“You know, we were doing fine just the two of us. We were better off that way…”

He trailed off, waiting for Geralt to say something -- anything, however silence was his only answer. 

Jaskier scoffed. 

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Look, I just-- I don’t know why you’re so intent on having her with us. I mean, it’s not like she’s a joy to be around--”

“Just drop it, Jaskier,” Geralt said in a low, emotionless voice. 

The bard stared at him, hurt, then looked away. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what--”

“I said drop it,” the Witcher snapped, his voice growing louder, harsher. 

Jaskier’s head snapped back to Geralt, giving the Witcher a look that betrayed his shock. However, the bard’s expression quickly turned stony. 

“Fine,” he said quietly. 

Then again,“Fine.” 

He stood up, his back facing Geralt. 

“You know what, Geralt, I-- I can’t do this. Not right now,” his tone was laced with the heartbreak that threatened to bubble up from his chest, bursting out of him to fall at the Witcher’s feet. 

He couldn’t take any more of Geralt’s indifference towards him. He couldn’t bear to stand another second of the Witcher’s coldness, which stung Jaskier more painfully than the iciest of temperatures possibly could. 

He needed to get away. 

Without another word, the bard took off. 

“Jaskier, what are you doing,” Geralt asked, hurriedly jumping to his feet. 

“Going for a walk,” the bard shot back without turning around. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt called after him, but it was too late. 

The bard had disappeared into the haze of the raging snowstorm.

“Damn it,” Geralt muttered, worry mingling with the frustration in his voice.

He took a step forward, trying to listen for the bard’s familiar heartbeat. 

He could hear nothing but the howling wind. 

He took a deep breath, trying to detect Jaskier’s scent, but the icy air stung his nose and rendered it useless. 

With a groan and one last look at where Jaskier had disappeared, Geralt made for Yennefer’s tent. 

When he pushed aside the canvas flap and entered, the mage, who was lounging comfortably on a large bed, looked up at him, surprised.

She raised an eyebrow at him seductively, but her expression soon changed to one of concern. The dark scowl on Geralt’s face must have told her that he hadn’t come for the usual reason. That and the pungent smell of fear that dripped off of him, burning her senses. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked him, her inquisitive tone taking care to remain calm. 

Geralt let out a quick, tense breath. 

“It’s Jaskier. He’s gone out into the storm.”

Yennefer looked at him in disbelief, as if she thought he might be pulling her leg. 

“Gone out,” she said slowly. “What, like for a stroll?”

“Yen,” Geralt started, a desperate edge to his voice. “I can’t hear him, and I know the fool has no idea where he’s going. If he gets lost…” 

The Witcher’s voice died away, leaving the phrase to hang in the atmosphere like an impending fog. 

Yennefer stared at Geralt for a few moments. He could see the concentration on her face as she thought of the best way to deal with their situation. Then she suddenly spoke, swinging herself elegantly from the bed. 

“Do you have anything of his? A piece of clothing or a possession? I’ll need it for the spell.”

“Uh,” Geralt grunted, looking desperately at the ground as he searched his mind. 

Then the realization hit him. He raised his head with a jerk, wide amber eyes meeting Yennefer’s intent gaze. 

“His lute,” Geralt choked out.

“He left his lute.”

Jaskier had only made it a few paces when he realized that he’d forgotten his prized instrument back with Geralt. 

“Oh, shit,” he passionately muttered to the wind, which quickly swept his words away.

Now he would have to go back to get the lute, and it would surely be awkward. 

Of course, Jaskier hadn't meant to stay away permanently, only leave for long enough to make Geralt feel bad, but he hadn’t been gone for all of five minutes and already he’d messed it up. 

‘Leave it to me to fuck up the simple act of storming out,’ Jaskier thought bitterly. 

Whirling around, he began to head back to camp. 

But then, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, the realization came over him. 

He looked around frantically, fear-stricken eyes squinting against the onslaught of snow, the harsh wind whipping strands of hair across his face. 

Jaskier had no idea where he was. 

He had no idea how to get back to Geralt. 

“No,” Jaskier muttered.

“No no no no no -- fuck!” He shouted into the wind. 

It was then that he seemed to become aware of the storm that surrounded him. The savage wind cut through his cloak, chilling him to the bone and stealing the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t see his hand when he held it up in front of him.

“Fuck,” he said agian, only this time it came out as a defeated whisper. 

‘How boring,’ he thought, ‘to die in the middle of a snow storm.’

Surely he deserved a much more theatrical death; one that the Continent would sing of for decades after he was gone. 

But no. Instead, he was going to be buried under the snow, never heard from again, never properly remembered. 

A day that started off bad had only gotten worse. 

Much, much worse.

But before his thoughts were able to grow any more desperate, Jaskier noticed a little prick of light that had entered his vision, its bright illumination causing it to stand out against the darkness. 

Jaskier tilted his head, wondering if his death was about to get a lot more interesting. 

“Oh fuck -- not what I meant,” he muttered as the images of a wide variety of horrible monsters flashed before his eyes.

As the light continued to grow -- whether in intensity or because it was getting closer, he couldn’t tell -- the bard stumbled backwards. In his desperate attempt to get away, he tripped, falling onto his back.

“Shit.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as the now blinding light reached him. It rose like a pillar before him, slicing through the darkness like a terrible omen. Throwing his arms over his head, he waited for death’s cruel jaws to snuff him out. 

He waited…

He waited some more. 

Then he heard a voice, flat and annoyed but, most astonishingly, relieved. 

“Jaskier, would you get off your ass -- my fingers are about to freeze off.”

Jaskier’s head shot up to find Yennefer standing before him, her long hair whirling around her head. 

“Yennefer?” Jaskier shouted above the storm, his voice more skeptical than relieved.

“Wow,” Yennefer shot back, though there was a new hint of humor in her voice, however dry.

“Nice to see you too. Come on, before Geralt gets impatient and comes after you. I’d rather not have to save two idiots.”

The mage offered a hand to the bard. 

Jaskier looked at it in disbelief before his own hand shot out to take it firmly. 

Yennefer, to his further belief, squeezed back tightly.

“Don’t let go,” she shouted over the wind, which was growing fiercer by the second.

Jaskier only nodded, using his other arm to shield his face as the mage heaved him off the ground.

He heard Yennefer whisper an incantation, swirling her free hand through the air. 

A portal appeared and she ran for it, dragging Jaskier behind her. 

The two jumped, crashing through it as if it was a thin wall of ice, then came hurtling down onto the hard ground. 

Yennefer’s arms shot out to stop the momentum of the rest of her body. She propped herself up in an impressive landing. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, rolled three times before winding up in a pile of limbs underneath his cloak. 

Geralt, who had been pacing restlessly around the fire, started at their sudden arrival. 

“I’ve got him,” Yennefer choked out. 

Seeing that both of his companions had made it back, he sighed in relief, shaking his head. 

The mage stumbled to her feet, breathing hard, and Jaskier untangled himself from his cloak. He didn’t bother to rise, however. Instead, the bard ran a hand along his face. 

“Fuck, I--” 

Both Geralt and Yennefer were surprised by how serious he sounded, how utterly broken he looked. 

“I’ve gone and fucked everything up, haven’t I,” he asked weakly, eyes trained on the ground. 

“No,” Geralt interjected, his voice low, but laced with an uncharacteristic amount of emotion. 

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, watching the two. This was a side she had not expected to see from either of them. 

“Geralt’s right,” she added in her matter-of-fact voice. “I found you, you’re back, we carry on.”

Jaskier’s head snapped up as he sought out her gaze, which hesitantly met his. 

“Just don’t do it again -- next time, you’re on your own.”

She said the words with a ghost of a smirk on her face, and for the first time, Jaskier could tell she didn’t mean any harm by the remark. 

He searched her eyes for a moment, and she looked right back at him until he gave her a thankful smile, which caused the mage to roll her eyes, though she couldn’t help smiling back.

Geralt sighed again and sat down, content now that he knew the two were safe. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said. 

“It’s okay,” Geralt replied, finding the bard’s eyes and holding his gaze, letting the younger man know he meant what he said. 

Yennefer hesitated, playing tug-of-war with the two sides of her. The kinder side won out, in this case. 

“I’m sorry too, Jaskier,” she said carefully, shooting him a sideways glance. 

The bard stared back at her, eyes wide. 

“Oh-- no, it’s… fine,” he said, flustered by the mage’s sudden kindness. 

Then with a weary chuckle he added, “I owe you one -- you really saved my hide back there.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, smirking. 

“Don’t go wandering off again and we’ll call it even.”

“Done,” Jaskier quickly agreed, putting one hand to his chest and raising the other. 

“I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Geralt observed closely from his spot by the fire, his brow slightly furrowed as he listened to the two interact. 

He’d never considered that the two of them might ever get along. 

He’d also never considered what that might mean to him. 

He found that the idea pleased him. 

That night, Gearlt unsurprisingly joined Yennefer in her tent.

In spite of the way he’d been feeling, Jaskier found that he was glad for the solitude.

It gave him time to think. 

Specifically, time to think about what had happened. About Yennefer and Geralt, and himself, and how they all fitted together. 

Jaskier had never liked Yennefer because he’d always assumed she didn’t like him. But tonight, she’d helped him -- she’d even been deliberately kind to him, in her own special way. She’d been forgiving, not holding the incident against him, choosing to simply move on instead. She had every right to be upset with him, but she wasn’t. 

Maybe he’d been wrong about her. Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought. It was so hard to tell what Yennefer was really thinking, and people usually tended to dislike him, rather than like him. But now Jaksier was starting to doubt that Yennefer felt either towards him. 

And this got him thinking that maybe he still had a chance with her. Maybe, if he actually made an effort to be agreeable, she would start to do the same.   
So Jaskier decided that he would do his very best to get along with Yennefer. At the very least, because Geralt loved her. Jaskier’s chest felt heavy, as it was the first time he’d ever let himself think that.

Geralt loved Yennefer. 

And while Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure that Yennefer loved him back, the bard was sure that he loved Geralt enough to respect the Witcher’s feelings. If that meant being painstakingly kind to a crotchety sorceress, then so be it. 

And besides -- maybe they could get along after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/suggestions/requests are more than welcome!  
> You can find me on tumblr @orangechickenpillow if you want to say hi :)


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